


Socialist Realism

by bunnybrook



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Abuse, Addiction, Anal Sex, Drug Abuse, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Emotional Manipulation, Frottage, Kidnapping, M/M, Rape/Non-con Elements
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-03
Updated: 2017-01-28
Packaged: 2018-08-19 07:05:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 10
Words: 18,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8195113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bunnybrook/pseuds/bunnybrook
Summary: The Soviet Union disbanded almost five years ago, the Cold War is supposedly over. There is nothing for Alfred to be afraid of.





	1. Chapter 1

After the meeting, Arthur stopped Alfred with a grab at the elbow, startling him. They both laughed about it. Alfred took his glasses off to wipe them on his shirt and Arthur scratched the back of his head.

“Francis and I are going out later,” Arthur said, his hand moving from his head to be shoved into his pockets. Alfred could tell he was nervous and that it was Francis’s fault that Arthur was talking to him right now. “After dinner.” Alfred glanced over Arthur’s shoulder, to where Francis was getting his coat by the door. Francis caught his eyes and winked charmingly.

“Where are you thinking of going?” Alfred asked. Arthur blanched, looking out of the corner of his eye to try to catch a glimpse of Francis without turning his head. His eyes slowly moved back to Alfred and he mumbled something. Alfred could already tell where this was going, they played through this routine almost every time the three of them were in the same place at the same time. “I asked where you’re thinking of going.”

“A strip club,” Arthur said, loud enough for Alfred to (barely) hear it. Alfred grinned. Francis was putting on his coat, taking Arthur’s jacket and draping it over his arms. It was just the three of them left in the room now, everyone eager to get out and party all weekend. New Year’s was on Sunday, after all. Alfred thought about the hangovers everyone would be sporting on Monday and suppressed a little giggle.

Francis approached and put a hand on Arthur’s shoulder, which only seemed to make him more tense. 

“I’d love it if you could join us,” Francis said. “It’s not one of your shitty warehouse parties, so wear something nice. It’s a gentleman’s club.”

Alfred raised his eyebrows and made an ‘ooh’ noise. “Fancy,” he said. Francis slung his arm over Arthur’s shoulders. Arthur pouted. 

“We’ll be seeing you, then?” Francis asked. 

“You guys can pick me up, right?” Alfred asked. “I don’t like driving in the snow.”

Francis nodded. “Of course, darling. Is ten okay? The party doesn’t really start until eleven.”

The three of them headed for the door into the cold. Alfred buttoned up his coat after he got outside. He watched as Francis and Arthur got into a car together and walked towards the main street to catch a taxi.


	2. Chapter 2

\---

Alfred ordered room service and listened to his Nirvana CD’s on his portable player while he ate. He dug through his suitcase for something nice, or at least nicer. He wound up re-using his business clothes for the outing, rationalizing that he could get them cleaned sometime on Sunday. He wrote himself a note and left it on the nightstand. It was ten minutes before ten when he made his way down into the lobby, but Francis and Arthur were already there. Arthur was in a baby blue button up and brown jeans, which made Alfred think he looked like a farmer. Francis was wearing a maroon longcoat, something that was obviously for fashion more than warmth. The two of them were arguing in French.

Alfred walked up to them. He sat next to Arthur on the couch. He jokingly put a hand on Arthur’s thigh. Arthur slapped his hand and turned to give him an angry look which softened when he realized who was there.

“Francis nearly killed us on the ride over here,” Arthur explained. He stood up and Alfred followed, smiling and listen as they started arguing again, this time in English. They were exhausting to be around but Alfred had seen them in just as many tender moments as ones of aggression.

The car was still warm from when they’d last been driving. Alfred took his heavy coat off and put it on the seat next to him. Arthur got into the passenger seat and Francis into the driver’s seat. It was snowing lightly, but it didn’t seem it would get any worse.

“Do you know where we’re going?” Alfred asked. Arthur tapped a loose rhythm on the dashboard with his fingertips. Francis made a noise that meant he had heard Alfred’s question and that he was fairly sure where he was going, but he didn’t want to say anything in case he was wrong.

Francis turned on the windshield wipers to keep the snow from piling up on the glass. It was cold, fluffy snow. Alfred looked at the time. It was only about 3 in the afternoon back at home. Even if it was also snowing there, it wouldn’t be this dark. He started to think for a while about how no matter where he goes, everything keeps happening and that even when he dies, when he comes back, nothing changes. Even as a nation he has little effect on how things go.

“Alfred,” Francis said. “We’re here.”

Alfred turned his gaze from the frosted window to the front seat of the car. Arthur was already outside, shivering in the cold. He knocked on the window. Alfred got his coat and got out of the car, putting it on as they walked. Francis had parked a few block away from where they were going. 

The sign above the door was in Cyrillic. “Распутин”. 

“What does it say?” Arthur asked. 

“Rasputin,” Francis said. Alfred wondered if Francis knew Russian or simply knew how to read the alphabet. Either way, it bothered him that someone he considered a friend knew the language of Communists.

As they were opening the door to get inside, a car pulled up behind them. The movement and sudden light turned their heads. A man stepped out on the opposite side of the car, walking with a bounce in his step around the back of the car. 

“Maybe we should come back another time?” Francis offered, his voice hushed so that the other man couldn’t hear them.

It was too late.

“Oh! Alfred!” Ivan said, grinning ear to ear. “Nice to see you. You as well, Francis and Arthur. Come to have some fun for the weekend? This place is really grand, you know.”

Alfred shook his head slightly, looking behind Ivan to see if he could run for an exit. This is not how he wanted to spend his night. He just wanted to see some tits, maybe arrange a meeting for sometime over the weekend while the girls were off work. He couldn’t even imagine being comfortable enough to flirt with this menace in the room with him.

“Come on,” Ivan said, shoving Alfred gently. “Let’s get out of the cold! You will freeze out here, especially you, Francis, dressed for beauty as always. Don’t you get uncomfortable, choosing your looks over your comfort?”

“No,” Francis said, his voice flat.

It was well lit and warm in the first room. Someone was waiting behind a counter that was probably the coat stand, another man was at the door, obviously a bouncer. 

“Let me handle this,” Ivan said, still smiling. He took Alfred and Arthur’s coats and gave them to the man behind the counter. He took the tags the man gave back and handed them to the two men. He turned to the bouncer, then. Ivan was taller and broader than him. They exchanged a few words in Russian. Ivan took his wallet from his back pocket.

“We’ve got it,” Francis said, putting his hand out to stop Ivan. 

“Don’t worry about it,” Ivan said. “It’s my treat!”

Francis dropped his hand and didn’t say anything else. 

Ivan gave the man the rubles and the four of them were ushered inside. It was a nice place, absolutely not the sort of place Alfred was used to attending with Arthur and Francis. Both of them seemed to prefer it at the shittier, darkly lit places. Maybe it was the allure of Russian women or something about the fact that this particular meeting was so close to a holiday that made Francis compelled to pick here.

The club wasn’t crowded, but it wasn’t empty either. A few couches and tables occupied by men drinking, some with women on their arms and some who seemed to just be enjoying the view. Ivan led them through the club to the back wall, where the four of them sat on a couch. Alfred could hear music playing but couldn’t figure out what sort of music it was. 

“Order whatever you’d like,” Ivan said. “Like I said, my treat.”

“Vodka,” Francis said.

“You are  _ not _ drinking vodka,” Arthur replied, almost before Francis had gotten the last syllable out. 

“Oh?” The reply was more amused than annoyed. Arthur pouted.

“If you drink vodka, who’s going to drive me home?”

Ivan laughed at them. They both turned to give him cold looks but he seemed unaffected by it.

“Do not worry about getting home, I can call a car for you,” Ivan insisted. Francis and Arthur exchanged a few silent words through subtle facial expressions. “Would you like your vodka neat or should I get you a cocktail?”

“Whatever you think is best,” Francis said. “I’m sure you’re the expert on it.”

“Because I am Russian?” Ivan sounded offended. For a second, Francis tensed, expecting a blow, but Ivan laughed. “Well you would be right! I’ll get you a cocktail. You like lemon?” Francis nodded. “I will get you a Tolstoy tang, then. And you, Arthur?”

“Beer. Something German if they have it, otherwise whatever’s cheapest.”

Ivan turned to Alfred.

“Just a Coke, please.”

“No alcohol?” Ivan asked. 

“No.”

“May I ask why?”

“No.”

“A Coke then. Have a good time, Alfred. We know how hard you’ve been working lately.” With that, Ivan left.

Immediately Francis slid a bit closer to Arthur, reaching down to touch Arthur’s thigh. 

“What about getting your car back to the hotel?” Alfred asked. “I mean, he can drive you home but… your rental.”

“It’ll be fine,” Francis said, waving his hand dismissively. 

“I just…” Alfred went on, “Do you  _ really _ feel comfortable getting drunk around this guy?” The silence that followed was too long for Alfred to handle. He slammed his fist onto the table. “Answer me!”

“We don’t have the same history with him as you do,” Arthur explained, trying to stay gentle. “He doesn’t have a reason to hurt us. The war is over, Alfred. He doesn’t have a reason to hurt you, either.”

Alfred swallowed. He tried to take the words in and accept them. “Fine. Okay. Sure.”

“You don’t believe me,” Arthur said.

“Not really.”

Francis nudged Arthur, who turned to see Ivan returning with their drinks and a girl.

“You like? Her name is Katalina. Very cute, da? She speaks English as well. I thought that was appropriate.” Ivan sat next to Alfred on the couch, Katalina gave Francis his cocktail and Arthur his beer. Ivan passed something purple to Alfred. He didn’t have a drink for himself.

“No Coke?” Alfred asked. Ivan shook his head.

“No, sadly. Sprite only.”

Alfred sniffed it. “Why is it purple?”

Ivan shrugged. 

Arthur mouthed something close to ‘drink it’ to Alfred. This was all about peace, now. The war was over. Alfred put his cup up.

“Cheers,” he said.

“Cheers,” Francis and Arthur echoed. They drank.

Alfred almost spit the drink out. “This tastes like grape,” he said. Ivan shrugged again. 

“I am not very familiar with this sort of thing. I don’t often indulge in sweet drinks. Usually it is vodka or water for me. It could be grape.”

Alfred locked eyes with Arthur, looking for permission to start a fight. Arthur denied him it, shaking his head just enough for Alfred to notice the disapproval. 

“I like  _ my _ drink,” Francis said. Alfred was starting to feel sick, but screwed up his face and took another gulp. “Thank you for getting it.”

“Oh! It’s my pleasure, do not worry about it.”

There had to be something with Ivan to make him smile so much. Maybe his face was stuck that way. Even grinning too long for a picture made Alfred’s mouth hurt, looking at Ivan’s teeth, his lips stretched until they were nearly white, the crinkle around Ivan’s eyes that showed he wasn’t forcing the smile, it all made Alfred want to scream. The discomfort of the situation was making him wonder if he would have partied at all, regardless of whether Ivan was there or not. There was always the rest of the weekend.

It was only a few minutes later that Ivan was getting up to get another round of drinks. Arthur was only halfway through his beer but Francis wanted another Tolstoy tang.

“Another Sprite?” Ivan asked. Katalina, who had been chatting with Francis in broken English, moved towards Alfred when Ivan stood, occupying the space he took up only fractionally. She was short and thin, Ivan was tall and broad.

“Water, this time, please. A bottle, if you can get one, not tap. No ice.”

Ivan made a face. Something in between a frown and confusion. “Did I do something wrong?” 

“No.”

Ivan left.

“I could have gotten drinks,” Katalina said, watching Ivan cross the club. 

Ivan seemed to be back sooner than he had last time. He gave Francis his cocktail, reaching right in front of Alfred’s face. Alfred could have leaned forward and bitten him. Francis thanked him. Ivan sat back down, this time with Kataline between him and Alfred.

Alfred was starting to feel tired, nausea pulsing through his body. He slumped back onto the couch. Arthur leaned on Francis, who was already asking for another cocktail. Alfred watched as Arthur was convinced to get another beer. He held the water bottle in his hands, hanging it limply in between his legs. The plastic warmed under his hands. 

“Are you doing okay?” Arthur asked. “Hey. Alfred.”

Alfred looked up, his eyes moving, then his head. He nodded, then let his head fall back. Francis was starting to get obviously drunk. Three shots in nearly and hour and Francis was getting loud, laughing more, slipping into French. Arthur could tell better than Alfred that Francis was drunk, he kept shushing him and smacking him whenever he tried to get Katalina to come sit on his lap.

“What’s the fun of going to a place with beautiful women if you can’t play around a bit?” Francis whined.

“It’s called monogamy,” Arthur said. Francis whined again, kicking his feet. 

Katalina giggled. A while ago she’d moved to sit in between Alfred and Francis. Alfred was losing track of things. Everyone was moving, it was too bright. 

“He is French, no? Is it breaking your monogamy if we have a… um. Ménage à trois?”

Francis erupted into loud, sudden laughter. Alfred dropped his water bottle, jumping at the sound.

“Shut the fuck up!” Alfred shouted. He felt Ivan’s hand on his back, which just made the tension worse. His stomach was tight. He gagged.

“Maybe we should get you back to your room,” Ivan said. “You’ve been quiet all evening. I’m getting the impression you don’t want to be here.” 

Alfred saw menace in Ivan’s blue eyes. 

“Arthur, you have my number, right?” Ivan continued. Arthur nodded. “All right. Call me when you and Francis are ready to leave. If you want anything else just tell them my name and I’ll pick up the tab later.”

“I never said I was going with you,” Alfred said.

“Alfred, you’re tired, aren’t you? You really should come back with me, it would be harmful for you to push yourself further.”

It made sense when Ivan said it like that. Ivan helped Alfred to his feet, catching him when he stumbled.

“See you,” Alfred said, over his shoulder. Arthur ignored him, starting to really play up his hard-to-get routine. Alfred sighed heavily, the air feeling like lead in his lungs. He almost forgot his coat at the door, only remembering when Ivan prompted him to hand the tag to the man at the coat check. He didn’t bother putting it on, just draped it over his shoulders.

A car was waiting for them outside. Ivan opened the door, letting Alfred slide in first, then took a seat next to him. There was a dark window in between them and the driver but he seemed to know where to go without Ivan telling him. The car was warm. Alfred balled his jacket up and put it in between his face and the freezing window. His eyes closed easily. The hum of the car was a lullaby that lulled him to sleep almost instantly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> accidentally posted the first two chapters in one chapter :/


	3. Chapter 3

Through his sleep he felt Ivan dragging him out of the car, his feet dragging in the snow, getting into his shoes and melting. He heard a door open and he felt himself hit the ground. He tried to wake himself up, to get himself up off of the floor, to take his glasses off and get comfortable but he wouldn’t move. He was frustrated but decided that he felt better just laying there.

Later, he heard a voice. He was worried for a moment that he was hallucinating, but he knew he had heard it before and even when he tried to plug his ears he heard it. He opened his eyes just a bit. He wasn’t wearing his glasses anymore. Everything blurred in bright colors around a face, concerned. A boy? The colors swam in front of his face, making it hard to recognize him.

“America?” the boy asked. Alfred blinked, trying to get his eyes to focus. He grinned, the effort of turning his lips up exhausting him. “Please don’t wake up yet. Please, wait just a minute. Please go back to sleep.”

Alfred was more than happy to comply.

When he fully woke up he was cold. He was only wearing his boxers and his undershirt. He opened his eyes, trying to get used to the light. It was overwhelming and definitively fluorescent, burning his eyes as they struggled to adjust. As things came into focus he just felt more and more sick. Bright, primary colors accosted him. He felt around on the floor, feeling for his glasses. Maybe they’d fallen off? He squinted, looking for them.

The floor beneath him was made of the same sort of foam padding found on the floors of preschools and kindergartens, the foam puzzle pieces that prevented kids from falling too hard on the ground. They were blue, green, yellow, red. All solid, bright colors. The wall, a consistent dark blue, wasn’t much far from his face. It was padded as well, but that looked more like the padding in an asylum than the padding in a nursery. When he turned his face to look for his glasses on either side of him the wall wasn’t far in those direction either. The room he was in couldn’t have been larger than a hundred square feet.

Alfred repositioned himself so he could look directly behind him. He didn’t notice him at first with the way he was dressed, a jumpsuit made of patches of material the same color as the floor, but Ivan was sitting there with his knees to his chest, staring seriously at Alfred. There was no smile on his face, his eyes were wide. Vigilant. A white box of crackers was by Ivan’s feet. Alfred recognized them as something close to saltines, but he couldn’t read what was on the box.

It took a moment for Alfred to put things together.

“What the hell was in that Sprite?” he asked. He tried to crawl forward but a powerful sickness overtook him. He sat back on his feet, clutching his stomach.

“Are you hungry?” Ivan asked. “Food might soothe you.” He held up the box of crackers. Alfred took it. The package inside was still sealed. He tried to pull it open, then tear it with his teeth. Ivan took it back and tore a corner off of the plastic, tearing a bigger hole from there. Ivan held a cracker out for Alfred to take. Instead, he took the whole package.

The crackers were dry in Alfred’s mouth. He swallowed and swallowed but they wouldn’t go down. He kept stuffing them in his mouth, trying to fill his stomach and make the sickness go away. It worked but only marginally. He didn’t feel so sick he couldn’t think but the pain wasn’t fully gone. Alfred kept swallowing. He made it through half the package, trying to get his tongue to produce anything even remotely close to saliva so it wouldn’t feel like a desert in his mouth.

Ivan spoke. “Would you like something to drink?” The way he said it was a joke Alfred was expected to know the punchline to. Alfred didn’t know the punchline. Ivan reached behind him and pulled out a bottle of Sprite. It was purple, the same tint the glass Ivan had brought him last night had.

Alfred felt his stomach lurch.

“I’m fine,” he said. Alfred stood, just to feel like he had the upper hand. He bit another cracker in half. Ivan’s eyes followed him and Ivan stood as well. Something was leaning on the wall where he’d been, it must have been between him and the wall. Alfred only glanced at it, could tell it was a green bottle, before Ivan was talking and Alfred’s eyes went back to his face.

“There’s a tree in the forest,” Ivan says. “Why do you think capitalism is so fucking perfect if it isn’t present anywhere in nature?”

Alfred took a step back, shaking his head slightly. “What are you talking about?”

Ivan smacked his forehead like he was in a cartoon and someone had just said something idiotic. Alfred tried to swallow but his mouth was dry.

“Do you need something to drink?” Ivan asked. He didn’t wait for an answer before he turned to pick up the green bottle. It was a bottle of Sprite, tainted the same purple as the drink Ivan had brought him last night had been. Alfred shook his head again, speechless with fear. Ivan uncapped the bottle and it fizzed. It was only half full. “Come here.”

Alfred kept walking backwards until his back hit the wall. Ivan followed him.

“The tree wasn’t a capitalist,” Ivan said. “Don’t you ever think this through? In nature, no one sells their roots, their leaves, for anything in return. The sun provides and the earth provides and all the little animals seem to make it through their whole lives without a single dollar.”

 _Animals kill each other_ , Alfred thought, but he guessed that now might not be the time.

Ivan stood over Alfred, intimidating him with bulk and the measly inch he had over Alfred. Alfred was shaking, cold and mostly naked, scared out of his mind. Ivan grabbed his chin and his lips parted with the grip, a noise escaping Alfred’s mouth without him meaning to. Ivan poured the tainted Sprite into Alfred’s mouth, some of it spilling down his chin. Alfred tried to spit it out but Ivan clamped his hand over Alfred’s mouth, forcing him to swallow it. Alfred breathed hard through his nose, trying not to choke. Ivan held the Sprite bottle up and Alfred pushed himself back into the wall.

“Don’t,” he said, close to tears. Ivan laughed at him. He sounded unhinged. He grabbed Alfred’s chin again and repeated the process of forcing himself to swallow, this time Alfred fought a bit less.

Ivan dropped Alfred’s face and Alfred dropped to the floor, his legs collapsing from beneath him.

“It’s the upper class the enforces the hierarchies,” Ivan said. He put his foot on Alfred’s shoulder in a triumphant pose over him. Alfred wanted to force himself to stand again, to fight, but he felt weak, the adrenaline in his system making his body feel hollow. “It’s the working class leading the revolution.”

Alfred was too lost to argue. He felt sick the way he did last night, but it wasn’t as bad this time. He heaved his chest, trying to catch his breath. Ivan took his foot from Alfred’s shoulder and hobbled back over to where he’d been sitting watching Alfred sleep. He assumed the same pose, knees to his chest, eyes wide.

“What are you doing to me?” Alfred asked. He wiped the stickiness from his chin. He looked down and saw that it had stained his skin purple. Fuck.

“It was my birthday yesterday,” Ivan said. “Nothing. No one remembered.”

“What?”

“Everyone _loves_ you. Country of hope, freedom. Capitalism. Wealth, fame. Movie stars and celebrities. Everything from your country is crap.” Ivan fisted his hands in his hair and tugged, gritting his teeth. “Made in China, it all falls apart!”

Alfred tried to understand, he really did. Ivan’s chest was heaving. Was this his fault? Something pleasant was happening inside of his body, the numbness from last night filled with a gentle kind of joy. Maybe not total elation, winning the lottery, but satisfaction, watching an infant play with a puppy but the goodness never ends.

Ivan slammed his fist into the padded wall, making Alfred jerk at the sudden noise. Ivan’s hair was in his eyes, which were fluttering.

“How do you feel?” Ivan asked. His voice was steady. Alfred was thinking about the walls here, maybe this wasn’t just his prison but Ivan’s as well. The jumpsuit, the walls, Ivan’s erratic behavior. Maybe Ivan hadn’t even made this room. There was a door, obviously, a metal one with a keypad. Maybe someone else had locked them in there as some kind of sick joke. Alfred didn’t want to accept Ivan could do this to him. Strip him, lock him up.

He felt Ivan’s hand on his thigh. He couldn’t believe Ivan was doing this to him. He felt Ivan’s kiss on his throat, sucking just hard enough to stimulate him. Alfred tried to suppress a gasp but the air came unwanted into his lungs, freezing his throat, filling his chest with ice water. He felt goosebumps forming on his arms and legs.

“There we go,” Ivan said. His hand was huge on Alfred’s stomach, pushing his shirt up. Alfred wiggled, trying to get away but Ivan pushed him back. Despite the padding on the ground Alfred’s back hit the floor hard. The air left his lungs and he was gasping again. Ivan was forcing him to freeze, wasn’t he?

“Let this happen,” Ivan said. His fingers pulled back the waistband of Alfred’s boxers and made their way inside. Ivan’s hand was big as it squeezed Alfred’s cock, slowly stroking him until he was hard. Alfred stared up at the ceiling, knowing that if he tried to get up Ivan might hurt him. If he could get up. He felt far away, his body thrumming with pleasure and Ivan jacked him off. He couldn’t move, he could barely speak. He was high, wasn’t he? Ivan was drugging him.

Alfred felt Ivan pull his boxers down his legs, pulling a foot through the leg hole so the underwear was hanging from Alfred’s ankle. He rolled his head back so that his neck was stretching uncomfortably and the top of his skull was on the floor. He couldn’t watch what was happening. Ivan’s mouth was on him, the warmest point on his body was the pulsing between his legs and the wetness of Ivan’s mouth. No teeth, Alfred begged, that wasn’t how he wanted to go.

He felt the heat radiating through him as Ivan sucked. He hated this. All he wanted was for this to end, his breathing getting more and more shallow. He was close.

“More,” he said, as if that would solve the problem. He said it with the intensity that he would say ‘stop’ or that he would say ‘no’. He said it with the force of him shoving Ivan off of his manhood, slamming Ivan into the wall and smashing his head in. He felt Ivan suck harder. Alfred could feel it coming, tight and fast. There was no end. He bucked his hips and tried to get his hands into Ivan’s hair, but it wouldn’t end. “You’re… You’re bad at sucking cock.”

Ivan laughed. His fingertips dusted Alfred’s sides, making him shudder. Alfred’s hands dropped from Ivan’s hair to lay useless and shaky on the ground. Ivan sucked as he pulled his mouth off of Alfred’s cock, it popped on its way out. Ivan’s lips were red and wet, his eyes glassy and his pupils blown. Alfred tried to stop it but his dick twitched at the sight.

“Oh you know that it is not me, America,” he said. “Your incompetence is only the fault of yourself.”

Ivan laughed. Alfred was getting pretty sick of that. Him laughing. Maybe those people in asylums just went crazier listening to everyone else around them laugh. Maybe they started to laugh too, wanted to pretend they knew what the joke was but when they started figured out that they couldn’t stop. Arthur always told Alfred that if he made funny faces one day they’d stick, maybe something like that had happened to Ivan.

Alfred pushed Ivan away from his cock and was met with little resistance. He licked his palm and wrapped it around his shaft. His cock was red and his balls were tight. He started to jack himself off, only dimly aware of Ivan next to him. Ivan had undone the jumpsuit and pulled it off his shoulders and down past his waist. He was mostly bare in the near freezing room. Alfred felt Ivan’ warm cock on the side of his leg. Ivan rut onto him, holding Alfred’s body close to him. Alfred tried to ignore it and just cum.

Even by his own hand Alfred couldn’t do it. He put his feet flat on the ground and pushed his cock up into his hand, wanting to finish not only for the release but to prove Ivan wrong. Slowly, the boundaries between the aching in between his legs and the wet warmth pushing into him blurred. The tightness on his shoulders that crushed him into Ivan’s body. He could feel his own heartbeat in his chest, Ivan’s heartbeat in his ears. They were both erratic. Alfred couldn’t figure out how to breath if there was nothing rhythmic to sync with, not even Alfred’s hand around himself had consistency.

“Fuck,” Ivan said, Alfred could feel him cum, the way his cock pulsed and the semen that landed on Alfred’s knee. Alfred let his hard cock fall back in between his legs. He was jealous of Ivan, embarrassed with himself. He’d lost whatever fucked up game Ivan had forced him to play.

Ivan only loosened his grip on Alfred for a moment to shake his cock a few times and put everything back inside the jumpsuit. Before Alfred could understand what Ivan was doing he was pulled back into a close hug, trapped in Ivan’s arm like a living teddy bear. Despite Ivan’s violence, his threat, the deep seated fear Alfred felt in front of him, there were still moment that Alfred saw the round edges of Ivan’s head and could see a young man beneath the loose skin of Ivan’s face.

“Are you sleeping?” Alfred asked. He didn’t know what it sounded like. His mouth was all fucked up, his lips and tongue too loose to form real words. Ivan never asked. Maybe he hadn’t asked in the first place. The fluorescent lights burned his eyes, even when he closed them. He curled up as close to Ivan as he could, trying to leech the warmth Ivan gave off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the schedule for posting is basically whenever i get a chapter done. i'm trying to stay about three chapters ahead of posting in case i end up going weeks without posting and need to keep the fic active.... i'm writing literally thousands of words a day but this fic is........... so long. this is one of the longest things i've ever written actually. it's really helpful to have such a big project <3  
> 


	4. Chapter 4

Alfred almost drifted off. His mouth was dry and his throat was sore. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed, he knew that he’d been touching himself, the splattering of Ivan’s cum was dried on his knee. The cold was constant, his blood frozen in time and in temperature. His eyes closed. He was aware of himself, the absolute silence of the room except for Ivan’s steady breathing beside him and the own rush of blood in his ears. This wasn’t the city noise he was used to. This wasn’t even the quiet rustling of the country.

He felt a sharp kick to his side, his breath knocked out of him. He wheezed. He rolled over and placed his hands flat on the ground, attempting to push himself up into any kind of a sitting position. He was met with overwhelming nausea. He collapsed back to the ground, thankful for the padding.

“I have more food,” Ivan said. Alfred felt Ivan drag him by the underarms to the wall, propping him up against it. Alfred looked blearily around. He was tired. Ivan had a can of peaches and some plain, whole wheat bread. Ivan tore up one of the pieces of bread and pressed a piece to Alfred’s lips. He couldn’t do anything but open his mouth and try to chew. He was slowly waking up and coming back to himself. He was watching things happen through a tunnel. He was miles away from reality, stuck inside of his throbbing and aching body.

“Open up,” he heard Ivan say. Then, “Good boy.” Alfred gagged, feeling the few bites of bread try to make their way back up onto his lap. He somehow managed to keep it down, Ivan petting his hair and shushing him. Ivan’s lips were practically pressed to Alfred’s cheeks while he whispered soothing words in Russian.

Alfred made it through two slices of bread without throwing anything up. It must have taken forever, there were minutes in between each small bite where Ivan calmed him enough to swallow another mouthful. He wasn’t lucid but he felt closer to the front of his head now.

“Happy new year,” Ivan said. “It’s 1995.”

New year? Alfred shifted so that he could sit up on his own. He rubbed his eyes, Ivan’s face coming into focus too close to his own.

“You have to let me go,” Alfred croaked, one of the first real sentences to pass his lips since Ivan had locked him in here.

“Why?” Ivan asked.

“The meeting starts again tomorrow,” Alfred tried to explain. His voice was rasping out of his sandpaper throat. “I have to be there.”

"No, it starts today. It's the second," Ivan corrected. "I'll get you there." He reached his hand out to hold Alfred’s face, his thumb pressed up against Alfred’s lips. Too close, Alfred thought. Too close. Ivan parted Alfred’s lips and held the pad of his thumb on Alfred’s teeth. Too close. “Do not worry, America. All is well in the land of blue, white, and  red .”

“Red, white an-“ Alfred tried to correct Ivan but as soon as his mouth was open enough Ivan pushed his thumb inside. Alfred started to bite down but saw the warning in Ivan’s face. If Ivan lost his finger then Alfred would be losing much more than that in revenge. Slowly, Alfred let his jaw relax and let his lips wrap around the digit in his mouth.

“Good boy,” Ivan said again. Alfred closed his eyes. “Let’s get you somewhere nice, soft and warm, okay?”

Alfred nodded, careful not to jerk his head too much and accidentally bite Ivan. He didn’t care if Ivan was still there, he wanted to feel some kind of comfort. Everything was so hard, scraping up his skin and sending needles through his digestive track. Ivan stood, making Alfred feel trapped against the wall. He lifted his jacket up and Alfred realized it wasn’t just a jacket but a snowsuit was folded up underneath it. It was a robin’s egg blue with gray fur around the hood. It looked like something a little boy would wear.

Ivan put his hand out. Unsure what else to do, Alfred reached out to take it. Ivan let Alfred lean on him, guiding Alfred to dress himself in the snow suit. The inside was soft on his skin, it made him think of fuzzy pajama pants. He was so glad to be warm. Ivan took Alfred’s hands and slipped them into thick mittens. Alfred wiggled his fingers inside. Next was thick socks, almost slippers. He wouldn’t be able to walk out in the snow in these. Alfred let this happen.

He started to panic when Ivan slid thick, sound cancelling ear muffs over his ears. He shook his head.

“No,” he said, as loud as he could. He couldn’t do much to stop Ivan other than pull away and stumble a few steps to the wall, propping himself up against it instead of Ivan.

Ivan intently stared at Alfred, taking one of the muffs away from Alfred’s ear. He said, “If you protest any more I will leave you here until you starve. When you come back I will let you die, over and over. They will have to bomb Russia to ruins before I let you out.”

Alfred closed his mouth and let Ivan snap goggles over his face, blacking out his vision. The hood was pulled up over that, leaving Alfred deaf and blind. He stayed standing where he was, shaking from fear and starting to sweat in his insulated prison. He felt Ivan’s hands on him, reaching behind his knees to knock him over. He fell onto Ivan’s other arm and was lifted into the air, being carried bridal style to what he assumed to be the door. He felt a slight change in temperature and Ivan started to walk. They’d left.

Alfred clung to Ivan, doing his best to ball his hands in the fabric of Ivan’s heavy coat. He was curled up against Ivan’s chest, the lower and uncovered part of his face taking the brunt of the cold. His nose was starting to run from it, his tongue poking out to wet his painfully chapped, cracking lips. He tasted blood and clenched his teeth shut, trying to keep his lips dry. He could ask for some Chapstick, maybe.

He didn’t know how long they walked. He started to nod off partway through, but Ivan must have noticed because he found himself dropped on the ground, falling hard onto his back in the snow. He thrashed, trying to sit up, his back getting wet. The snow soaked through his socks. He started to shake again. His mittens were too thin to be able to push himself up off the ground and while he had the upper body strength to sit up, the thickness of the snow suit made it impossible. It took a good minute before he gave up, trying to keep his eyes from watering up and filling the goggles with tears.

He moved with Ivan when he felt hands on him, doing his best to make it easier for Ivan to pick him back up, blindly grabbing for Ivan’s shoulders. Ivan rubbed his back, soothing him enough for his breathing to be steady.

Ivan placed Alfred on the ground again some time later. He was obviously standing on concrete. Alfred struggled to balance, dazed without his sight. Ivan took his hand and guided him a few steps, the warmth of what he stepped into was subtle, but as Ivan walked him further what Alfred assumed was inside of a house, he began to overheat again. Ivan stopped them briefly, then had Alfred walk a few more steps.

Ivan took the hood off, unzipping the jumpsuit and letting Alfred step out of it. It was relieving to get into a more bearable temperature, not too warm and not too cold. Ivan took the earmuffs off. Alfred listened to him breathe. Ivan took the mittens off after that. Then, finally the goggles.

Alfred squinted at the light, dim as it was. He rubbed his eyes, blinking to let the room get into focus. He was standing in a bathroom. The only light was coming from a night light plugged in by the sink. He was afraid to speak, afraid that if he opened his mouth and tried nothing would come out. His throat was sore from breathing in so much cold air. He turned his head, trying to take in more of where he was. He turned in time to see Ivan close the bathroom door, assuring he wouldn’t be able to know his surroundings just yet.

The bathroom was bigger than he was used to. It was just as big, if not bigger, than the room Ivan had kept him in. A bathtub that could easily fit four people comfortably was in the corner, in a sort of side room that jutted away from the rest of the bathroom. In the opposite corner was a showerhead, but no curtains or walls to hide someone from full exposure. Alfred turned back around and saw a toilet, and right next to it a bidet. Fancy, he thought.

He wasn’t used to this sort of space in a bathroom. Most of the time he stayed in an apartment in downtown DC, about a mile away from the White House. He had a room there, obviously, but he’d always liked to live in a smaller space, keep his stuff where he wanted to. It was a bit hard to keep his friend Tony in the White House also, with all the government officials hanging around.

Ivan was pulling his gloves off with his teeth, shoving them into the pockets of his coat and then unbuttoning it to hang on the back of the door on a metal hook. Alfred was trying to figure out why he still felt so cold.

“Can I take the socks off?” he asked, looking down and realizing his feet were still covered in almost frozen wet wool. Ivan grunted.

“Fine,” he said.

Alfred sat on the rim of the toilet bowl, stretching and wiggling his toes as the socks came off. He could wring them out and get at least half a cup of water from each of them. Unsure of where to put them, Alfred set them on his lap and squeezed each of his feet, trying to warm them up.

Ivan came over and took the socks, tossing them onto the pile of Alfred’s other clothes.

“What do you want?” Alfred asked, still rubbing one of his feet in his hand.

“You’re a mess,” Ivan replied. “You need to shave. You need to shower. You have three hours to put yourself together, then I am driving you back in to Moscow with me and we will get to the meeting together. Understand?”

Alfred nodded. “Won’t people ask questions?”

“You’re a party boy,” Ivan said. He grabbed Alfred’s head to keep it still while he pressed a kiss to Alfred’s lips. He stayed in close. “I don’t think we will raise suspicions.”

“I can tell everyone what you’ve done to me,” Alfred said.

“That room is waiting, then,” Ivan replied. He gave Alfred’s cheek a pat, too hard to be loving or encouraging, but not hard enough for Alfred to consider it a slap. “Come on now, America. Don’t you want to look nice for the other nations?”

Alfred dropped his gaze to the floor. “I… I guess, yeah.”

“Then get cleaned up. I will be staying here for you for when you need help.”

Alfred didn’t like that but was too tired to oppose the situation. He stripped and showered, taking soap when Ivan opened the mirror cabinet and offered it to him. He wasn’t grimy but sweat had dried on his skin and Ivan’s cum was still flaking off his thigh. It would have felt satisfying to do this if Ivan hadn’t watched. He stayed in the shower until the water ran cold, but he didn’t notice the time pass.

He found the towels himself, under the sink. They were stiff.

“Ever considered fabric softener?” Alfred said. He wanted it to sound strong, witty. Something a captive spy would say to his merciless abuser. It came out dead and quiet. Alfred waited for a reply but never got one. He wrapped the towel around his waist. He looked at his face in the mirror. There were deep circles under his eyes, a burst blood vessel making his left eye red. When he thought about it that eye was sore, but was easy to ignore as the rest of the pain in his body made him nauseous.

He looked over his shoulder. Ivan was still leaning across the wall, his arms crossed over his chest. He looked warm in his dark blue, cable knit sweater, but his eyes were stone. Alfred tried not to think about it. He turned back to the mirror, opening the cabinet. A bright orange capped bottle of gel shaving cream caught his eye. It was Gillette brand, as was the gray handled razor propped up against it.

Alfred’s hands shook as he rubbed the cream on his face. He watched Ivan in the mirror, hearing the sound of his boots on the tile as Ivan walked up behind him. He took the razor from Alfred’s hands and, pressed flush against his back, gently shaved his face. He managed not to cut Alfred at all. When he was done he pat Alfred’s face dry with the towel from around his hips.

“Are you hungry?” Ivan asked, biting Alfred’s earlobe enough to make him shiver. Alfred nodded. “There’s breakfast downstairs. Anything you want.”

“Pancakes?” Alfred asked. He looked small compared to Ivan in the mirror, despite there being less than a two-inch difference between them. Ivan was broad. Alfred was lithe. Alfred was closed in on himself, though, his shoulders pulled forward and his chin pressed down to his chest. Ivan held himself with confidence.

“Mhm,” Ivan said. “Pancakes with syrup and butter. Coffee, maybe? Fruit?”

Alfred felt himself tearing up. He moved his hand up to wipe his eyes before the tear fell but Ivan grabbed his wrist. “Why are you being so nice?”

Ivan shrugged. “Come downstairs with me. I will bring you clothes.” He gave Alfred the towel back and gave him room to wrap it around his waist again. Ivan had opened the door by the time Alfred had figured it out. Alfred followed him.

The rest of the house was nice. There were paintings on the wall, portraits that were obviously from the forties and fifties, Soviet realism of girls looking out of windows and crowded scenes outside of restaurants. Moonlight was coming in through the windows. There was no way for Alfred to figure out what time it was.

They through the house, narrow hallways that eventually opened up into a large living room. A large U-shaped couch surrounding a giant TV. He couldn’t see the colors without the light. The furnishings were more modern than the rest of the house. Alfred paused to take it in but Ivan tugged on him to keep them moving. Beyond there was the dining behind an ornate, dark wood door. There were lit candles on the table, the rest of it bare except for the pure white table cloth.

Ivan pulled a chair out and Alfred sat. There was more Soviet art on the walls. The house must have been old. There was a certain sort of feeling Alfred had in long standing buildings, ones with cultural and historical significance. It wasn’t just him, Arthur felt it too. Maybe it was a Nation thing. His heart was being tugged on, as if something were trying to pull him back into the past. He felt this was especially in his own country, standing in the older parts of Maryland and Philadelphia.

“Is this your house?” Alfred asked. Ivan smiled at him, showing teeth.

“Ah. Clever boy.” He pat Alfred’s shoulder. “I’ll be back with your clothes. Sit tight.”

Alfred noticed the emptiness of the room. The table stretched on for miles in front of him. It was closed in. No windows. He was afraid to turn to look behind him. Maybe Ivan had crept back in and had his hands raised to strangle Alfred. Unwillingly, he whimpered. It echoed through his mind, the pathetic noise making him ashamed. What if Ivan had heard? What if Ivan knew he was getting to Alfred? What if he was weak?

Alfred’s mind had wandered to other things by the time Ivan returned with an outfit for him. He left it on the table, folded neatly with a pair of socks balled on top. The door closing behind Alfred was the only thing he noticed about Ivan’s swift entrance and exit.

He couldn’t tell what colors the clothes were exactly, only which garments were lighter, which where darker, and which were stark white. The underwear was darker, for example. Briefs with the word JOCKEY in bold letters circling the elastic waist band. The shirt was lighter, almost white. There was a white undershirt. The slacks and jacket were dark. Alfred hung the damp towel on the back of his chair and dressed as quickly as he could with what little balance he had. He was forced to sit down to get the socks on due to that. They were tight on his feet, woolen and heavy.

With perfect timing, Ivan shouldered his way back into the dining room. He was carrying a plate stacked with pancakes. The smell made Alfred’s stomach tighten. He was starving but looking at all that food he knew that it would be too much for him to handle. He had a forked wrapped up in his pinky finger. Ivan sat to the left of Alfred. He waited for Ivan to give him the fork but watched as, instead, Ivan started to cut the pancake with the edge of it.

“I can feed myself,” Alfred said. Ivan looked up at him and crooked an eyebrow. He handed Alfred the fork.

The pancakes felt like sand on his tongue. They were cakey and hard to swallow. The sweetness of the syrup made him gag and it was as if the pancakes had been soaked in butter. He felt the food drop into his stomach, almost immediately making him sick. He put a hand over his mouth and tried to keep what little he’d just eaten down.

“Not hungry?” Ivan teased. “That’s new. I thought you’d like these  fat pancakes. I made them just for you. Are you being ungrateful?”

“I-“ Alfred started. No. Ivan didn’t deserve a response. He took a breath, calming his stomach and his mind. “I’ve had a long weekend.” Ivan laughed at him. Alfred powered through. “What time is it?”

“06:00,” Ivan said.

“How far away is Moscow?” Alfred asked. “I… don’t have shoes.”

“We should get going,” Ivan said. He leaned forward and put his palm on Alfred’s thigh. It was only there for a moment before Ivan took the plate away to the kitchen, most of the food still remaining. Alfred could feel the heaviness of Ivan’s hand, the way his fingers wrapped around his leg. Alfred stood, bumping into Ivan when he tried to follow him into the kitchen. Ivan shook his head and walked around Alfred, towards the front of the house.

“I don’t have shoes,” Alfred repeated, walking unsteadily behind Ivan.

“I have shoes for you,” Ivan replied. He stepped into his own boots, the ones he’d been wearing before.

“Where are they?”

Ivan pointed. A few feet next to the doorway was an unopened box, clearly labelled Nike. Alfred opened them. They were black and white basketball shoes. He looked up to Ivan, who was kneeling to lace the boots up. If this is what he was getting, this is what he would wear. Alfred sat on the floor, forcing the shoes onto his feet and forcing the laces into a knotted mess.

“You look like a child,” Ivan commented. He offered a hand to Alfred but Alfred ignored it, clawing his way to his feet using the wall as a grip.

“Thanks,” he said. He followed Ivan out to the car, lucky that the driveway was fully paved and cleared of snow. He knew his shoes would get wet and icy cold. This wasn’t the car Ivan had driven to the club. It was bright red and blocky. A Lada car. Probably from the past five years. It was covered in frost. Alfred sat inside and watched Ivan scrape the ice off the windshield. It didn’t take long, Alfred suspected Ivan was used to that.

Ivan shut the door behind them and Alfred was painfully aware of the ‘click’ sound as the doors locked.

_ My duty to my country proceeds my safety and comfort _ , Alfred reminded himself.  _ If I die I will come back and maybe through my death I’ll have a reason to kick his ass _ .

Ivan started the car.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lada cars are the most ugly thing you will ever see in your life, great going soviets


	5. Chapter 5

Alfred wanted to wait to walk into the conference room, knowing what everyone would say if he pranced in holding onto Ivan’s arm like Ivan was his father and he was the bride walking to the aisle towards her unhappy marriage. He felt a hard shove on his back and fell forward onto his wrists. Nothing cracked but he felt his left wrist bend too far, leaving him breathless from the pain.

“Don’t push!” Alfred shouted, his first reaction rage. He pushed himself to his feet, turning to face Ivan. Ivan walked past him. He sat next to Yao, who had bulky Sony headphones over his ears, a Walkman resting on the table in front of him.

Arthur and Francis were sitting across from them. Well, not really across, since circular tables had been mandated after Alfred and Ivan had taken to sitting on each head of the table and threatening each other, Alfred even going so far as to crawl across the table so Alfred could attempt to stab Ivan with his house keys sometime in the late fifties. That was also around the time when  _ anything _ considered a weapon had to be left outside of the room, even shoelaces for a while.

The two of them leaned on each other, Arthur trying to be more casual about it while Francis had thrown an arm around Arthur. Francis’s hair was pulled into a messy bun and Arthur’s hair looked a bit more shaggy than normal. Alfred swallowed the pain in his wrist, letting it hang limp at his side and went to sit next to Arthur.

“Are you all right?” Arthur asked. The room was hushed except for the tinny, muted drumbeat coming from Yao’s headphones.

“Fine,” Alfred replied. He forced his hand up onto the table and clenched it into a fist. He ground his teeth to avoid making a noise, trying to avoid showing the pain on his face. He was painfully aware of Ivan watching him across the table.

“I called you this weekend,” Francis said, reaching out to grip Alfred’s hand. Alfred took it and Francis squeezed. Alfred wanted that, he realized. The loving touch Francis gave him was so much better than the hell he’d gone through this weekend. He felt sick all of a sudden. No. He couldn’t think of this right now.

“Shit,” Alfred said. “Fuck. I lost my phone.”

“We were worried,” Francis said. “What happened, ma petite chou?”

Alfred cringed at the pet name. He kept his eyes off of Ivan. He could tell Ivan was smiling. Maybe no one liked him, but that was all of it. Alfred wasn’t sure if any of his friends could feel the force of Ivan, his manipulation. Years ago, during the depth of the Cold War, Alfred would stay awake at night feeling Ivan’s spies in his head and body, infiltrating his government and spitting his secrets back to Ivan. It was the same feeling as Ivan rubbing off on him, the same violation. He could tell the truth about this. He had the power.

“Alfred, you look awful,” Arthur said.

“Did you lose your glasses too?” Francis teased.

“That isn’t funny,” Arthur snapped. “This isn’t a  _ joke _ . Alfred, what  _ happened _ ?”

“Ivan just dropped me off at my room,” Alfred said. “I passed out for a while. It was probably just a flu or jetlag or something.”

Arthur didn’t look convinced. “We tried to check up on you.”

“Ah,” Alfred said. “When?”

“Saturday afternoon, before we went out.”

“I was asleep.” Alfred felt the forced smile come without him willing it. He was naturally charming when he needed to be. He considered it a defense mechanism. “Sorry.”

“Stop asking so many questions,” Francis moaned. “You know I still have a headache.”

“Good thing I’m not asking you for anything.”

The door opened, interrupting them. Alfred was grateful for it, he was too drained to listen to his friends bicker.

The Axis looked awful. Ludwig was wearing dark shades, looking like he’d shaved with his left hand. Feliciano looked like he’d tried to look nice, at least. His hair was hastily brushed, but his white button up was stained with coffee or tea and the navy scarf around his neck clashed with the brown jacket he was wearing. Kiku was the worst of them, though. He had dark circles under his eyes, a nearly black bruise under his right ear. Alfred could only imagine what sort of mess they’d gotten into.

Ludwig sat at the chair closest to him, in between Alfred and Ivan. Feliciano followed, poking Ivan until Ivan turned and smiled over his shoulder, moving to the other side of Yao to let Feliciano sit in his seat. Kiku was forced to drag himself around the table and collapse next to Alfred.

They sat for a while. Yao paused his music, moving his headphones to hang from around his neck.

“Right,” Ludwig said. “None of you look well and since we  _ have to _ sit in here, let’s just…” he trailed off and propped his head up with his hand. “Yeah. Rest.”

Kiku let out a relieved sigh next to Alfred, and laid his head onto the table.

Francis and Arthur had a quiet conversation in French, leading the way for Feliciano and Ludwig to start talking in German to each other. Yao turned his music back on. Ivan twiddled his thumbs.

“Crazy weekend?” Alfred asked, nudging Kiku. Kiku didn’t open his eyes, just groaned. “Want to share?”

“We drank most of Saturday,” Kiku said. “And Ludwig had  _ so much _ alcohol we just kept drinking Sunday morning to avoid a hangover. Then sometime last night, I guess, we decided to go out to the convenience store across the street for… fuck. Something. I don’t know. We got attacked or something. Mugged, I guess, is what you would say.”

“Shit,” Alfred said.

“Yeah,” Kiku said. “I’m fine. We’re all strong. It was just some kids.”

“Did you call the police?”

“Mm. No. We didn’t think it was necessary. They were kids.”

Alfred nodded acknowledgment.

“How was your weekend?” Kiku asked. Alfred could tell it was just a formality at this point, Kiku trying to be polite.

“Relatively quiet,” Alfred said. “I’m going to let you rest.”

Kiku let out a small noise of thank you and closed his eyes again.

At this point Ivan was pestering Yao, talking to him in Mandarin while Yao tried to ignore him. The sound of so many languages being spoken made Alfred’s head hurt. He wanted to cover his ears or smack his head to try to get his thoughts in order but he’s been discouraged from doing that. He sat on his hands and bit the inside of his cheeks to keep himself from looking crazy. A quiet body is a quiet mind. Alfred wished he had a book to read or his CD player. Anything.

At some point in the morning Francis tried to drag Alfred into the conversation, but Alfred couldn’t manage to follow the conversation in French so he quietly stopped talking until it was only Arthur and Francis speaking to each other again. Kiku had fallen asleep and Feliciano was sitting on the floor with his head in Ludwig’s lap.

Noon came. There was supposed to be a lunch break but no one said anything until almost one.

“Anyone hungry?” Ivan asked the room. Everyone looked at him. They’d been doing this hunger strike since they’d gotten here. Sometimes someone would remember to pack a lunch, which they guarded with their life, but a few of the past few meetings had been held without eating at all because no one was selfless enough to go out and pick something up for everyone. “Mm. Well, I am. I think Alfred might be as well. We can get food. Is anyone interested?”

“Me!” Feliciano said, and raised his hand into the air like a school boy. “I’m starving.”

“Any preference?” Ivan asked. He smiled sweetly. “I could probably find sandwiches for everyone.”

“That’s fine,” Ludwig said before Feliciano could whine.

“Alfred,” Ivan said. “Would you like to come?”

“No,” Alfred said, automatic, scared. Fight or flight was kicking in, he had to force himself to breathe through this. He expected Ivan to lung across the room and drag Alfred with him anyway, straining an already injured wrist and scraping Alfred across the frozen ground.

“All right,” Ivan said. He stood and left.

Conversation resumed. Time seemed slow. Alfred turned and finally figured out there was a clock on the wall. This helped to some degree, but mostly it only hurt his neck because he kept craning over his shoulder to see how long it had been. Ivan returned with a plastic bag full of plastic wrapped tuna sandwiches. The sun started to set at around 16:00 and by 16:30 it was fully dark outside. Alfred never finished his food.

The Axis were the first to leave, then Yao. Francis was at the door, waiting for Arthur, but Arthur kept hovering behind, he kept going back to check in with Alfred.

“Do you have plans for the evening?” he asked.

“Not really,” Alfred said.

“You could come get dinner with me.”

“It’s fine.”

“Do you need a ride to your room?”

“I’m good.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“If you need anything just-“

“I’m  _ fine _ !” Alfred slammed his fist on the table. Ivan was still there, watching him. “Leave me  _ alone _ ! You don’t have to baby me like this!”

Arthur pulled his hand back to his chest and Alfred went for the door. Francis was talking to him, trying to stand in his way and stop him but Alfred shoved him aside, storming down the hall and out onto the street. The street lamps in Russia were whiter than they were in America. Maybe it was just the way light reflected. He had to get back to his hotel room. He would get a taxi, but, no. Ivan had his wallet. He couldn’t call anyone. The only thing he could do was go back inside and ask for a ride from Francis.

He started to panic, watching his fast breath huff out of his mouth. This was so pathetic of him. He turned and saw the door open, Francis following Arthur out of the door. Alfred crossed the street and tried to stay out of their view. He watched them get into the car Francis had rented, watched it drive off.

“Fuck.” Alfred turned and punched the building behind him with his good hand. “Fuck!” He wasn’t going to give up. He could walk? It was only a few miles. He remembered what Kiku had said, the assault. At least he wasn’t the only one who’d had a shit weekend. Yao was the only one to have actually been smart enough to get a room at the hotel the conference was being held at, but that would be worse than going back and asking Francis for help.

Alfred crossed the street back into the lobby of the hotel. Ivan was waiting. He understood now, what was happening.

“Need a ride?” Ivan asked. Alfred wasn’t going to cry. “I brought your leftovers.” He held out the sandwich, re-wrapped in the plastic it had come in.

“Okay,” Alfred said. “Okay.”

Ivan walked him out to the car. He went through the process of scraping the ice off again, and when the car restarted the same classical music that had been playing before started up again.

“We drove for hours and you never asked what I was listening to,” Ivan said. He started the car. Alfred rubbed his arms, trying to warm himself up. “It’s Shostakovich. He was a good Communist. A formalist for a while, though. He learned. Isn’t this wonderful? It’s his twelfth symphony, a depiction of a Bolshevik revolution. He dedicated it to Lenin. Vladimir was very happy with it.”

“Lenin was a pig,” Alfred said. Ivan laughed.

“Interesting words,” Ivan said, “Since I know that you capitalists are the true pigs.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Alfred said. Ivan tapped his hands on the steering wheel and turned the music up.

“Here we are,” he said. Alfred reached with his left arm for the door, forcing himself to open it despite the pain he felt. He headed inside, but stopped before he got into the door.

“Wait!” he said, taking a step back towards the street. “How did you know I was staying here?”

Ivan had already driven away. When Alfred returned to his room, his cell phone was waiting on the folded towels placed in the middle of his bed. He listened to the voice mails Francis had left, stripped to his briefs, and collapsed into bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i had writers block for a while but i think i'm on another writing stint. i feel really obligated to finish this before i can work on anything else that major, luck you.


	6. Chapter 6

Alfred was almost an hour late the next day. He’d nodded off in the shower after waking up too late. The ornate double doors were locked when he got there. Frustrated, he punched the wall. His hand went straight through it, like it was paper.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he said, bracing himself on the door and forcing himself to pull out despite the way the cracked wood scratched against his skin. He looked at his hand, the fingers shaking. Splinters stuck out of it, blood pooling around their bases on his skin. Arthur unlocked and opened the door.

“You need to control your anger,” he said. Alfred flinched at the disappointment in his voice. “Do you need plasters?”

“Wha-“

“Bandages.”

Arthur sighed. “Just get a seat, love, I’ll go get a kit.”

Alfred walked into the room. Everyone was looking at him. There was a seat between Ivan and Ludwig and another next to Francis. He knew where he was expected to sit, but he didn’t want to. He dragged his feet. Unbidden, he thought, _this might be easier if I had more of what Ivan was giving to me_.

“So, what were we talking about?” Alfred asked.

“You weren’t talking about it,” Ludwig said. “It’s fine, though. It was about violence in urban Russia. I’m sure you heard that me and my friends had a bit of an accident.”

“A few hooligans are not my problem,” Ivan insisted.

Arthur returned with a small white box brandishing a red cross on it, the universal sign for healthcare. He set it in front of Alfred and took his seat back next to Francis.

“The population is very much a nation’s responsibility,” Yao argued.

Alfred looked at the box. He tried to unlatch it, but stopped when the effort made the splinters dig further into his flesh. He tried with his other hand but found the effort equally as painful on his sprained wrist. He sat there and helpless stared at it. Blood dripped down his wrist onto the white tablecloth.

“Do you need help?” Ivan asked in Alfred’s ear. Alfred could feel Ivan’s breath on his skin. Without waiting for an answer, Ivan reached over and clicked open the first-aid kit. He took out a pair of tweezers, opening to sterilized bag. “Give me your hand, America. I’ll get this.”

“I can do it myself,” Alfred said.

Ivan smiled sympathetically. His eyes wrinkled warmly around the edges. He took Alfred’s hand and started to delicately pull the splinters from his skin. This would be easier if he was high, was that it? Even the red, raw skin on his cock had felt far away and much more pleasant than this.

“Stop moving," Ivan said. His grip tightened around Alfred’s wrist. The forming scabs broke open and bled.

“Okay,” Alfred whimpered. “I’m sorry.”

“Good boy,” Ivan cooed. Alfred tried to focus on the conversation but he couldn’t understand. He glanced up and saw it was Kiku and Yao speaking over each other. He couldn’t tell if it was Mandarin or Japanese, though. They could have been each speaking their own language. He felt a sharp sting on his hand that made him shout. The conversation stuttered but after the two saw he was fine, they started back up again. Alfred looked to Ivan who was spraying Neosporin onto the open wounds.

“Some warning could have been nice,” Alfred hissed. Ivan peeled open a Band-Aid and pressed it on one of the bigger scraped on Alfred’s knuckles. He opened another and wrapped it around Alfred’s ring finger.

“There we go,” Ivan said. He patted Alfred’s hand and gave it back to him. Alfred looked at it. The Neosporin dried as a shiny film over his skin. The cuts and shapes were bright pink on his winter-pale skin. Ivan closed the first-aid kit and placed it on the floor, sliding it under the table.

The day dragged on. There was a brief break where Alfred took the first-aid kit back to the lobby and tried to mumble an explanation for what happened. The man behind the desk didn’t understand. Alfred dragged his feet back to the conference room. The afternoon’s conversation was spent switching between French and German. Alfred could only contribute to half of the conversation. Yao and Ivan were completely cut off and sat quiet and patient.

Alfred hated it when they weren’t speaking English. For the most part he and Arthur had strong armed the other nations into learning the language, but that only meant that they communicate, not that it was guaranteed to be spoken during the meetings.

Alfred was the first to leave when they agreed on dismissal a little after 16:15. He stole a cab New York style, watching the poor Russians scream at him and throw a snowball at the back of the car. The driver took a route he wasn’t used to. He got a call from Francis a few minutes into the ride. He let it ring through.

When he got back to his room he started to pack. His plane wasn’t leaving until 21:00. He had a few hours to get back to the airport. Francis tried calling again. Alfred ignored it and let his phone buzz itself off the bathroom counter. Everything fit neatly into his duffel bag. He changed out of his business casual, the same suit Ivan had given him yesterday morning. That seemed so long ago. He put on a gray NASA t-shirt, blue Levi jeans, and his bomber jacket.

Ivan called. Alfred was popular today, wasn’t he? Alfred reached for his phone but stopped himself from picking up, instead taking it to his bed and dropping it next to him on the bed. He bent down to pull the Nike’s on. A moment later there was a knock on the door.

“Just a minute!” Alfred called. He finished knotting his shoelaces and jumped to his feet. He threw the door open without checking who it was. Ivan was standing outside, dripping melted snow onto the nice hotel carpet. Alfred could smell the cold on him. He didn’t let his expression waver.

“I have something for you,” Ivan said. His hands were deep in his pockets. He took out a white bottle labelled ‘Aspirin’ and held it out for Alfred to take. Alfred took it cautiously. He tried to open it but had trouble with his smarting hand and sore wrist. Ivan took it back, opened it, and returned it to Alfred. It was half full with bright blue pills. They looked chalky. “Oh! I never realized, but they’re the same color as your eyes.”

Alfred didn’t like that. “What are they?”

“Dissolve one under your tongue if you miss me,” Ivan said. “I’d wait until you get home. And don’t get caught with them.”

“What are they?” Alfred repeated. Ivan chuckled.

“It’s not a problem for you, Alfred. I’ll see you later. Remember, only one at a time.” Ivan leaned forward and pressed a quick kiss to Alfred’s jaw and started off down the hall. Alfred watched him press the button for the elevator then looked back to the bottle in his hands. He closed the door and dropped it into his suitcase.

Alfred took a cab to the airport and sat on a bench outside watching his foggy breath until his face went numb. At that point, he moved inside, curled up on a chair by his gate, and thought about the pills in his suitcase until his flight arrived.


	7. Chapter 7

Alfred was too wired to sleep on the flight. He bounced his leg for a while, then got into his carry on and pulled out his Gameboy. He was sitting next to an empty seat in first class. He turned the reading light on and played Zelda for a while.

“Do you need anything?” a flight attendant asked in stilted English. She smiled. She was obviously exhausted. She’d probably flown here from America already and was heading back to the states for a break. He skirt was short and her make up was shakily applied.

“Uh,” Alfred said. “Beer, yeah. And is there going to be a movie?”

“I don’t think so,” she said. “What kind of beer would you like?”

“Surprise me,” Alfred said. He smiled and winked. The flight attendant raised her eyebrow and put her hand over her mouth to hide a smile. She returned a few minutes later with a bottle of Pabst. Alfred reached out for it but when he touched it he recoiled from the cold of the can. He looked at his hand, watched it shake as he forced himself to take it.

“Are you okay, sir?” the flight attendant asked.

“Fine,” Alfred replied. The cold of the metal was like the cold leaking through the cloth mittens. He was laying helpless on his back, except he wasn't. He was here.

The flight attendant smiled and leaned over Alfred to help him get the tray down. Alfred noticed her blouse unbuttoned. He knew where this was going.

“There we go,” she said. As she was moving back to stand up straight again, she stopped to whisper, “You’re really cute.”

“Thank you,” Alfred whispered in return, keeping his eyes forward. The flight attendant blew him a kiss as she moved back to the front of the plane where she could sit down. Alfred adjusted himself in his pants and cracked open the beer. He picked his game up again and played for a while, sipping his beer until he was done with it. He waited until he could get to a save point before he made his way towards the front of the plane where the flight attendant was waiting.

“I have this, um, trash,” he said, holding out the can. He could hear muttering from the cabin of the plane. Not everyone was asleep, it seemed. The flight attendant opened her legs and Alfred saw cotton white panties between her legs.

“I can take care of that,” she said. She pressed herself up against Alfred, forcing him to take a step backwards. She kept pushing until he was back against a wall. He dropped the can and grabbed her ass, pulling her close to kiss him. He could feel her lipstick rub off on her face.

Alfred let himself zone out. He felt her kissing him, her hand pushing up his shirt. They were in plain sight, weren’t they? He tried to push her back far enough to read her nametag but she came back at him double the force. He rolled with it. She stopped enough to unzip her skirt, which Alfred took as an invite to stick his hand inside. She had a bit of bush, but he could feel with his hands that it wasn’t too much. She gasped. His fingers were wet.

“You’re so cute,” she sighed. “I’ve been horny since I saw you get on the plane.”

Alfred thought about the bright blue ceiling, eight or ten feet above his head. His head felt foggy. His hand slowed. The flight attendant groaned and ground her hand down onto Alfred’s palm. He glanced to her breast and saw her name. Ana.

“Did I get the wrong idea?” she asked. Alfred didn’t know what to say. He heard her but the words weren’t going together the right way in his mind. His wrist was starting to throb from bending it so strangely. He’d almost forgotten about its ache.

“The wrong idea about what?” he asked. His hand was still in her panties. She squirmed.

“The… This?” She took his wrist and pulled it up between them. Alfred saw the fingers shine slightly with her wetness. “I’m sorry.”

“No,” Alfred said. “No, it’s me. I overestimated myself.”

Alfred could feel his heart beating in his throat. He was half hard but the erection was shrinking. Ana took a step back and combed her hands through her hair. She was blond. Her hair looked like silk, glimmering in the dimly lit space. Her lipstick was smeared across her face.

“You’re beautiful,” he said, “if that helps.”

Ana’s eyes dropped to the floor. She buttoned her blouse. “Do you need anything else?”

“Another beer, yeah,” Alfred said.

She forced a smile and nodded. “If you would return to your seat I’ll be right with you.”

Alfred adjusted his shirt and put his glasses back on straight and wandered back to his seat. He had to focus to make sure he wouldn’t topple over, he felt top heavy and the plane jostling didn’t help his balance. He picked up his Gameboy. Zelda was too complicated for right now. He put the Tetris cartridge in instead. It took longer for Ana to come with his beer this time, but when she managed to get to him her make-up was fixed and her movements were more stiff than before. She put his beer down on the fold-down table in front of him.

“What are you playing?” she asked, trying to mend their awkwardness.

“Tetris,” he said.

“Oh! That game is from Russia, you know,” she said. Alfred paused the game and swallowed down stomach bile.

“Yeah?”

“A man made it to program computers,” she said.

“Oh,” Alfred said. He opened the second beer. Ana hovered for another few moments but eventually left for her seat again.

Alfred’s mind went towards the pills in his bag. Maybe they’d help him calm down. Then again, maybe they’d kill him. It was something he’d be willing to risk, but maybe he should wait until he was home to do it. Alfred resumed his Tetris game, wondering if he was just a computer Ivan was programming and feeling sick when he realized the thought might be more accurate than he wanted it to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so I wound up accidentally deleting an entire chapter of writing and it's only about a thousand words but it pissed me off enough to put me off writing this for a while lmfao. i was writing ahead 2 chapters ahead in this so unless i miraculously write a lot i'm only one chapter ahead now. any way. the thing about the computer programming is real. the guy's name was alexey pajitnov.


	8. Chapter 8

Alfred lay on his couch, the TV playing quietly. He couldn’t sleep. A half eaten pizza was in a half opened box on the floor. He wasn’t hungry. The Christmas carols were still playing, the chiming voices of children blending into the sound of the occasional car driving by. He took his glasses off, looking at the way they were smudged with dust an dandruff and thumbprints. He should shower.

“Tony?” he called, wiggling up to a sitting position. “Do you have to use the bathroom?” His bare feet hit the floor and he shuffled towards Tony’s room. The lights were off, but Alfred could still see Tony’s eyes lit up red, flicking up to look at him. They reflected back the light of his laptop. He was surrounded by a next of blankets. Faintly, that one song by Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers was playing. “Tony?” The song skipped, then began playing smoothly again.

Tony tilted his head, an indication he was listening. Alfred folded his glasses and hung them on his t-shirt. He barely cast a shadow, the rest of the apartment being so dark. On the CD player, Alfred saw the time. It was 02:19. Arthur would be waking up about now. Ivan would be working.

“Do you think I could call someone?” Alfred asked suddenly. Tony trilled. “Arthur might know what to do.” The CD player hummed as it read the CD. The song started over again from the beginning. Tony was silent. “I’m going to shower,” Alfred said. He closed the door to Ton’yroom and went to his room, navigating by the light of the TV screen.

He’d forgotten about the bottle of pills wrapped in a pair of black boxer briefs and when he went to grab them, the bottle clattered to the floor. It rolled a few feet, then hit the wall. The sound had been deafening. In the other room, a laugh track played. Alfred’s eyes followed the path the bottle had taken, finally coming to rest on the white plastic, the green label. He picked it up.

It wasn’t as heavy as he remembered it being when it was hidden in his pocket at the airport. He opened the bottle. All of the pills were still inside. He shook them out onto his hand and counted five of them. He put four of them back in the bottle and closed his fist on the fifth. He could hear Ivan’s voice, the way it travelled through the thick hotel air.

_If you miss me…_

Did Alfred miss Ivan?

The pill was sweet when it dissolved in his mouth. He stripped and went to start a bath. He got into the tub. He floated with the water. He was already starting to feel something pleasant. He haerd water splashing, hitting the tile. He didn’t realize what it was at first, but when he did he struggled to get himself upright enough to turn the overflowing water off. He settled himself back into the tub and stayed there until the water ran cold. He didn’t want to do much. He could hear the TV and the water felt so nice on his body. But his skin was painfully wrinkled. Alfred pulled the plug and watched the water drain. It made him dizzy.

He hated how he dripped water onto the floor. His hair was hitting the back of his neck all wrong. He looked at himself in the mirror. It looked like he’d been losing weight. Grabbing a towel, he made his way back into the living room to sit down in front of the TV. He hadn’t dried himself off at all but he laid the towel out like a blanket on top of him. It didn’t do much to warm him but he didn’t seem to mind the cold right now.

Alfred heard birds start to chirp outside. It wasn’t many because of the cold, but they were still there. The sun rose. The high wore off. Alfred’s head started pounding somewhere in between an episode of Law and Order and The Today Show. It wasn’t the same as an alcohol hangover, it ached instead of throbbed.

“Tony?” Alfred called. Nothing. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Tony?” He groaned and turned to face the back of the couch, sacrificing warmth on his feet for a comfort on his head. He probably had to work today. He would wait until they called, too wrecked to move from the couch.

His phone was silent all day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I missed Russia's birthday by about an hour.......... I swear I meant to post this earlier


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in honor of russia's birthday and also the fact that i decided i hate having more chapters written than are posted, here is another chapter. i feel like i'm writing a lot of unnecessary detail but the beauty of fanfiction is no one is paying me to do this and i can write whatever i want to. wahoo.

Alfred had tried to save the pills but the remaining four of them only lasted less than three weeks. He’d find himself popping a pill into his mouth after a hard day, only starting to regret it when he was washing the sweet aftertaste with cold water. He’d lay on the couch and watch TV all night, then in the morning would dry heave, try to sleep, and watch more TV.

But he had a limited number of pills. He picked up the bottle one day and it was empty. _This is fine_ , Alfred thought, which was wrong because even as he put the bottle back he was nearly crying. He padded out into the kitchen to check the time on the microwave. 19:42. Everyone in Europe would be fast asleep by now. He tried to imagine Ivan in bed. Even in his imagined sleep, Ivan’s face was curled up in a wicked smile. The thought made Alfred gag.

He had friends here that he could talk to, people he met through work or out partying, but he wasn’t allowed to talk to anyone about being a Nation, barring other Nations and his boss. Even if he were to get help, he’d have to leave that out. He felt it was a pretty crucial point to the story. He needed a doctor, probably, to take a blood sample and see what kind of chemicals were corrupting him.

Without thinking too much, Alfred had slipped his coat and shoes on and left the apartment. It was brisk outside. He felt the denim of his jeans cooling off, the freezing air going right through them. His breath was steaming from his lips. He thought about the air in Moscow. It was much colder there, painful on his lungs. DC was just uncomfortable. He stuck his hands in his pockets. He wasn’t sure where he was going.

He fantasized about going to a bar, he hadn’t touched anyone since he got back from Moscow and forgetting whatever had happened on the foam floor in that weird dungeon, Alfred hadn’t gotten laid in months. He could go in, charm a cute guy into buying him some drinks. But in his mind the guy asked Alfred to follow him home and Alfred did like a lovesick puppy. In his mind, Alfred felt the foam on his shoulder blades, Ivan’s mouth nearly an oven between his legs. In reality, Alfred leaned over the curb and dry heaved onto the street.

Alfred knew he had to do something. When he made up his mind, it made a lot of sense. He could take a few days and go back to Russia. When he was there, he could see Ivan in person and find out what the pills were so he could get more. Then he could beat the shit out of him.

The flight left at 05:45, there was a quick flight to JFK in New York that he slept through, then a quick layover and he was on his way back to Moscow. He kept trying to go through a script in his head of what he would say to Ivan. His mind was blank.

It was two hours into the flight to Moscow that he started to realize this might not be the best idea. He’d dropped a thousand dollars on the plane tickets, one way. He could figure something out for himself when he was ready to come back. But… how would he explain to his boss where he was going? Francis had told him a while ago that he almost never checked in with his boss, but that was _different._ Alfred worked hard and he was proud of that. Francis was… Well, Francis is French.

Trying to calm himself down, Alfred turned his Gameboy on. Tetris was still inside of the system. He swallowed his pride and played for a while, it would be an easy way to get his mind off of things. He was starting to feel nauseous again. He ignored it. He tried to. It wasn’t much longer after he started to notice the sickness that he was vomiting into a bag, the woman next to him unbuckling to stand in the aisle to get away from him.

“Are you okay?” she asked, not concerned for Alfred but concerned for herself. Alfred crumpled the top of the bag, afraid to open his mouth to answer. He nodded and ran to the bathroom to gag into the toilet. He knelt in the cramped stall, his legs sticking out into the walkway. He felt a hand on his shoulder.

“Do you need anything, sir?” a flight attendant asked. For a second, she looked just like Ana. Alfred stuck his head over the toilet to gag. He drooled into the bowl.

“Motion sickness,” he managed to say. When he turned to look at the attendant again he saw her face was similar, but it wasn’t Ana. The panic didn’t subside. “Sorry.”

“Let me get you some water,” she said. Alfred nodded. His stomach was still aching. He felt like shit.

The attendant brought him water in one of the tiny plastic cups they serve the complimentary drinks in. Cylindrical ice cubes floated in it. Alfred sniffed the liquid. Looking at it, it seemed clear enough. He took a sip. No bad taste. He was still hesitant drinking the rest. It soothed his stomach enough for him to make it to his feet. Maybe someone did want to look after him for once.

Alfred was given another bag to puke into and was told that if he ever needed anything, to ring for the flight attendant. The row was empty when he returned to it. He sighed and sat down, curling up with his jacket as a blanket. He dozed.

It was midnight when the plane touched down in Moscow. Alfred was trying not to think about how far from home he was. He stumbled through the airport until he found a payphone, pushing in a few coins he had from his last visit that were buried in his pockets under used napkins and pharmacy receipts. He had the phone number memorized.

Someone picked up and said something in Russian. Alfred didn’t answer, not realizing the sounds coming from the other end wasn’t gibberish.

“Hello?” the voice said. It wasn’t Ivan, definitely. Alfred recognized it, a helpless sedated feeling and… Oh! It was the boy.

“Is this Ivan… Uh. Mr. Bragin-“

“Yes,” the boy said, cutting Alfred off.

“Oh, sweet. I’m in Moscow.”

“Do you want me to tell him?”

Alfred leaned on the wall by the pay phone and closed his eyes. He had to get this out quick, before the time he’d bought in ran out. “Yeah.”

Before he’d answered, he heard the kid shouting in Russian, then quiet. The phone changed hands.

“Which airport are you at?” Ivan asked. His voice was gruff. He sounded like he’d been shouting for hours.

“She.. Uh. Shere... I don’t know how to say it.”

“I know where you are. Which airline?”

“Aeroflot.”

“I’m sending a driver. Wait outside. He’ll take you here.”

Alfred breathed into the phone.

“It will be nice to see you, Alfred,” Ivan said. He hung the phone up and Alfred placed it back on the hook. He didn’t know if he’d just heard it or hallucinated it, but Ivan’s laugh echoed through his head. He was starting to gag again. He really had to think of something to say before he got to Ivan’s house. He buttoned his jacket up, then went to wait outside, just like Ivan had told him to.


	10. Chapter 10

Alfred had barely been out of the car when it drove away. He turned to watch it drive off, staring helplessly as he lost sight of it. He’d been left out in the cold. He looked up at the sky. It was clear. He could see more stars than he was used to. They looked so far away. He reached a hand up, looking at them through the gaps between his fingers. His hand was shaking soon after and he stuffed it back into his pocket. The lights were still on at Ivan’s house. Alfred approached the door and knocked. No one came. He knocked again, louder this time. He’d be polite and wait longer but he was still alone. Maybe he had to wake them up? This time, his eyes caught the doorbell. He pressed down on it and heard it buzz. Footsteps! He stood up straight and clenched his jaw to stop his teeth from chattering. He heard shouting, then more footsteps leading away from the door this time.

“God damn it,” Alfred said, barely opening his mouth to avoid getting the cold on his tongue.

When Ivan finally opened the door he was smiling. Alfred didn’t notice the door was open until he heard Ivan clearing his throat. He’d closed his eyes tight and had pressed his chin to himself to draw in on himself and keep warm. Alfred cracked his eyes open, seeing Ivan’s bare feet. He looked up. Ivan was wearing a horizontal striped tank top and Adidas sweat pants. His eyes were rimmed red.

“Come inside,” Ivan said. He put a hand on Alfred’s shoulder and pulled. Alfred stumbled over himself. His shoes squeaked on the hardwood floor. The sudden heat made him sick. Ivan’s hand moved to the small of his back and he was guided to the couch. He collapsed onto it. He could smell baking. It must have been three in the morning, what was being made?

Ivan shushed reassuringly as he knelt to take off Alfred’s shoes and socks. He piled them on the floor and wrapped his hands around Alfred’s feet, massaging one and then the other until they were comfortably warm. Alfred looked down and Ivan didn’t meet his eyes. This was intimate but Alfred knew he had no control here. He was thousands of miles from home and he had nothing. He felt like Ivan was preparing him to be eaten. The feeling only intensified when Ivan stood and unbuttoned Alfred’s bomber. He pressed himself against Alfred as he slid it off Alfred’s shoulders. Ivan dropped it on top of the shoes.

“You came all the way out here to see me?” Ivan asked. Alfred saw his hair out of his place. Ivan’s skin was damp with sweat, his bands were sticking to it. The white hair was almost invisible stuck to his forehead, the only indication it was even there was a slight texture and the faintest bit of a shadow. Ivan’s breath smelled like mint.

Ivan backhanded Alfred. Alfred knew he should have answered.

“I-I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “You scare me.”

Ivan chuckled. He put a hand on Alfred’s thigh and slid it up until he was cupping Alfred’s crotch. Alfred realized the feeling in his stomach wasn’t only fear and hunger, it was arousal consuming the back of his mind as well. It made him ache. He wasn’t fully hard but Ivan had noticed something. Alfred tried to shift away from Ivan but he didn’t have much energy to move and he wound up bucking into Ivan’s hand instead. He opened his mouth to say something, then closed it again and instead lowered his eyes in shame.

“You don’t feel only scared,” Ivan said. Alfred hated himself. “I want something from you as well.”

Alfred didn’t understand at first, then Ivan pressed his palm on Alfred’s crotch and brought his attention back to his hard on. Alfred had no choice but to play into the scene.

“What do you want?” he asked. He was breathless, the words coming out unintentionally seductive.

Ivan popped the button on Alfred’s jeans.

“Masturbate for me,” Ivan said. “Then I’ll give you what you need.”

Alfred moved without thinking. Ivan moved to sit on the couch next to him. Alfred stood, briefly, to shove his jeans and briefs down just enough to get his cock and balls out fully. When he sat again Ivan put an arm around his shoulders and lowered his head to suck on Alfred’s neck. The feeling sent shocks through Alfred’s whole body, he could almost forget that he hadn’t eaten all day, that he’d spent so much time gagging and shaking and crying on the plane here. They almost made an emergency landing but Alfred somehow managed to talk them out of it and duck off the plane before any authorities could be called.

“You’re beautiful,” Ivan said.

Alfred couldn’t tell if Ivan was lying or not. What did Ivan have to gain from making him feel so good? Alfred thumbed the head of his cock. He gasped and closed his eyes. Immediately, Ivan was holding his face, squeezing his cheeks until Alfred opened them again.

“I want to see your pain,” Ivan hissed. He was terrifying suddenly, red rage pulling his lips back in a snarl. He grabbed Alfred by the hair and pulled his head to the side so he had better access to Alfred’s neck. Alfred tried to keep touching himself through all of this, just trying to finish and get high but Ivan bit down hard where his neck met his shoulder and Alfred was pushing Ivan off him, pressing himself into the arm of the couch to get away from the sting.

He knew that was a bad idea as soon as he’d done it. It was reflex mostly. He thought he might cry at how sorry he felt. There weren’t any words in his head. To make for it he held back a sob and kissed Ivan on the lips, soft and tender. When Ivan kissed back it was anything but. Alfred thought Ivan was going to tear a piece of his lip off. Obediently, Alfred’s hand was back on his cock.

Ivan broke the kiss and went back to sucking on Alfred’s neck. He kissed and licked where he’d bitten, not an apology but soothing the skin for more hard sucking. Alfred could only imagine the hickey Ivan was leaving.

Slowly he came closer and closer to orgasm. He could feel it in his stomach. He spat on his hand and went back to jerking himself off, his breath deepening as he pushed through. The crying feeling was still there, so big in his chest that he felt it was bending his ribs back so far he thought they would crack.

“Don’t hold back,” Ivan said. He moved his kisses to Alfred’s jaw. Ivan took Alfred’s glasses off and folded them. “Don’t be ashamed of yourself.”

Alfred moaned, more a response to Ivan than anything prompted by real pleasure. He was panting, speeding his hand up. Finally, he was cumming onto himself, his mouth hanging open as he groaned through the orgasm. It wasn’t anything nice, he barely felt anything other than a gentle pulse through his body. He was tired when it ended. His stomach growled. Alfred closed his mouth and swallowed. He looked down at his hand, the semen on his skin and the small bit on his jeans. He looked at Ivan. He started to cry.

He hiccupped little sobs, unable to catch his breath. Ivan shushed again, rubbing circles on the small bit of thigh that Alfred had bare.

“It’s okay,” he said. “It’s okay. Good boy.”

Alfred started to calm down when he heard that. Ivan kissed his check gently. He reached forward and grabbed the box of Kleenex from the coffee table, handing it to Alfred. Alfred cleaned himself and pulled his pants back up.

“Is that enough?” Alfred asked, still sniffling. He was desperate to see approval in Ivan’s eyes.

“Oh, you were perfect,” Ivan praised. Alfred let out a breath of relief. He balled the dirty tissue and pressed it into his palm, unsure of where else to keep it. He didn’t want to leave garbage all over Ivan’s home.

“Do I get… C-can I have...?” Alfred couldn’t get himself to say it. Ivan got the message.

“Eat first,” he said. “Your stomach will get little holes.” Alfred whined and kicked his feet like a child.

“I’m not hungry,” he pouted.

“Then go home,” Ivan snapped back. “What do you want to eat?”

“Nothing.”

Ivan rolled his eyes and cupped a hand to his mouth and shouted in in Russian towards the kitchen. There was a crash, like someone dropping something on the floor. Ivan swore and pushed Alfred off of him, storming into the kitchen. Alfred couldn’t see out the windows at all, he only knew they were there from the bright reflection of the lamp behind him. His glasses would have mad the light glare if he was wearing them.

In his rational mind, he knew there was forest beyond the window, trees with branches heavy with snow. He knew there were stars. He couldn’t see them, he couldn’t imagine them. For all he knew, the house had broken out of this reality and was in limbo, bringing the whole concept of existence to a place that had only know nothingness before.

Alfred had started sweating. He only noticed because a drop had slid off the tip of his nose onto his t shirt. Alfred had started shaking. He only noticed because he saw his hand when he moved to check how damp his skin was. He looked at the palm of his hand, gleaming with moisture. Something was wrong.

Unable to speak, he stood. He assumed Ivan would be in the kitchen, so he stumbled there, supporting himself with one hand on the wall. He paused in the dining room, the lighting was darker. He could barely see. He was suffocating. The taste of greasy pancakes came into his mouth. He gagged.

Alfred guided himself by the light coming from the crack beneath the kitchen door. He cracked the door open and peaked inside. Someone else was there with Ivan. A boy. _The_ boy. Alfred recognized him from somewhere. When he was drugged up, before the room.

Alfred got a better look now. He seemed to have just hit puberty, his face at that stage where his jaw was trying to define itself under a layer of baby fat. His voice was cracking as he babbled to Ivan, sniffling, barely breathing through his sobs. Alfred recognized him as a Nation somehow. He could just tell. He couldn’t place which. One of the Baltic states?

“Latvia?” Alfred asked, the realization taking control of his voice.

Ivan and the boy froze, their heads snapping to look at Alfred. The boy looked terrified and all Alfred could see on Ivan’s face was blinding rage. The scene dissolved in an instant. The boy broke away from Ivan to mop up the honey he’d spilled, breathing deeply to keep himself under control. Honey. That’s what they were fighting about. The boy looked dead. Alfred knew how he felt.

“His name is Raivis,” Ivan said. His voice was calm “Since you seem to care about that.”

“But that’s Latvia, right?” Alfred pushed. He leaned heavily on the doorway.

Ivan let an annoyed breath out through his nose but he still smiled so naturally, so pure. “That _is_ Latvia, but he prefers if you call him Raivis.”

Alfred was smelling bread baking, that’s what it was. He could see the light on in the ovel, the pale dough barely rising above the top of the ban it was in.

Ivan walked over to him. Alfred could see where Ivan had had been. Footsteps of steam trailed behind him, his feet warm on what would be ice-cold tile. “Are you hungry?”

“Yeah,” Alfred said. “Really hungry.”

“When did you last eat?” Ivan said.

Alfred couldn’t respond. Ivan took the silence as an answer.

“Don’t hurt yourself, honey,” he said. Alfred was put off by something in the way Ivan said it, but he couldn’t figure out what it was that made him so uncomfortable. “If you still don’t know what you want I’ll decide for you.”

“Uh,” Alfred said. “What is there?”

Ivan made a face. “Not much for now. I can get something soon if it isn’t here.”

“I won’t be here for that long,” Alfred said. Ivan smiled. “Do you got chips?”

“Oh, right,” Ivan said. “Of course.”

Alfred couldn’t read Ivan’s tone and didn’t know whether to take it as an insult directed at him or Ivan. Maybe both. Would Ivan ever talk badly about himself like that? Alfred had never considered the fact that Ivan had his own self-image, that he existed as a person with self-perception and feelings. Well. The feelings part was debatable.

Raivis was already scampering into the pantry. He rustled around before coming out with a yellow bag of plain Lay’s potato chips. He brought it to Alfred, almost shoving it onto him. Alfred eagerly popped the bag open, shoving chips into his mouth.

“What do we say when people give us things?” Ivan said. Alfred crunched, swallowed.

“Um. Thank you?”

“There we go,” Ivan said. “Good boy.”

“Oh,” Alfred said.

Ivan guided Alfred back to the couch. Alfred was cradling the bag of chips in his arms, trying to slow down. The salt was making his mouth dry. He was still shaking but the food in his stomach made his thoughts a bit clearer. His fingers were getting oily. He fell back onto the couch, sinking into the soft cushions.

“I’ll be back,” Ivan promised, pressing a kiss into Alfred’s cheek. Alfred felt it burn through his skin. He tongued the inside of his cheek, almost expecting a hole to have melted into his face and for his tongue to be exposed to open air. He was solid.

Ivan came back with a bottle of pills and a bag of weed.

“Eat a bit more and I’ll give you something to take the edge off.”

“Uh-huh,” Alfred said.

Ivan sat next to Alfred and, without thinking, Alfred leaned on him. Ivan dug the remote out from in between the couch cushions and flipped the TV on. A movie was frozen onscreen, something in black and white.

“It’s a Wonderful Life,” Ivan said.

“Not really,” Alfred said.

Ivan laughed. He leaned forward, opening the bag and starting to roll a joint. “It’s the movie.”

“Oh,” Alfred said.

Ivan pressed play. “It’s late for Christmas movies.”

“Never too late for Christmas movies,” Alfred said through a mouthful of chips.

“You’re eating or you’re talking to me, not both,” Ivan said. Alfred nodded. “Art reflects society, I’m sure you know of this. Propaganda in WWII gave any Americans a reason to enlist in the army instead of waiting to be drafted. Captain America punching Nazis. You know that even Disney produced a cartoon featuring Donald Duck as a Fascist in hellish Nazi Germany before he woke up back in America the free.” Ivan licked the rolling paper, finishing up. He reached for the coffee table but his lighter wasn’t there. “Fuck.” He stood, as if forgetting Alfred was there. Alfred fell over onto the couch, quickly righting himself before Ivan could comment.

Alfred watched the movie. He could barely understand what was happening onscreen. He’d seen the movie before, what American hadn’t? Everything was fuzzy and lagging like a broken gaming system.

Ivan returned with the lighter and a glass of water. Alfred took the glass and drank.

“Not all of it,” Ivan said. “You’ll need some.”

The pills. Oh yeah. That’s what Alfred had come here for, right?

Ivan cracked the bottle open and dumped three onto his palm. He gave them to Alfred. They were white, oblong.

“Take them,” Ivan prompted. Alfred dropped them onto his tongue and swallowed. “Media that normalizes capitalism, a trade system owned by private company’s and not the people, is called Capitalist realism.” Ivan lit the joint and closed his eyes as he smoked. “Art that reflects a purer society is called Socialist realism. Can you guess which one this movie is?”

Alfred shook his head. He started to eat chips again, trying to get the pill taste out of his mouth. “Capitalist realism?”

“The villain is a banker, Alfred,” Ivan said. “Do you ever wonder why?”

“It’s because he’s selfish.”

“No, it’s because this movie is by Communists.”

Alfred stared. Ivan’s voice was starting to be weighed down by the high.

“If there were more movies like this, then maybe your workforce would learn to rebel and take control for themselves. You treat your people so badly. Don’t you ever feel bad?”

“But. The Soviet Union- “

“That’s not what I’m talking about,” Ivan snapped. “You know that’s not what I’m talking about. Wealth corrupts. Do you understand?”

“I guess,” Alfred said.

“You will,” Ivan promised.

Alfred leaned forward to place the bag of chips onto the coffee table. Alfred was starting to feel it, the pain in his body leaving enough for him to start to feel tired. He yawned and brought his legs up to the couch, nuzzling into Ivan’s side. Ivan kissed his forehead. He gently pulled Alfred’s hair back, took a hit from the joint, then pressed his lips to Alfred’s, shotgunning hot smoke into his mouth. Alfred choked and coughed, tears forming in his eyes. Ivan laughed at him.

“You’re cute,” Ivan said. “I forget how cute you can be, always you seem more pitiful than anything else. I see now you’re just helpless.”

“I’m not,” Alfred pouted.

“You need guidance, that’s all.” Ivan obviously wasn’t listening. Alfred was starting to nod off. “Oh, darling. Lay down with me.”

Ivan put the joint out on the coffee table and Alfred let him adjust them so they were spooning, Ivan pressing his whole body against Alfred. Alfred held on to Ivan’s arms, making a content noise. He felt so far away, his body falling asleep while he thought. Ivan turned the volume of the movie up while Alfred drifted. Ivan started humming something Alfred couldn’t identify. The sweet smell of pot smoke was lifting him up, outside of the house into the void they’d been transported to. Nothing could hurt him here, not even Ivan. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this MOTHERFUCKER monster chapter is more than 3k words I just couldn't break it up it had to go on and on. this is the beginning of the end. Alfred is dumb but I love him.

**Author's Note:**

> hey everyone! this fic is really long so far, this is only the first of four chapters that I've written and i'm not even halfway done with it yet. i was getting kind of sad without encouragement to keep going, though. my blog is usuk.tumblr.com if anyone wants to talk!
> 
> thanks for reading!


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